


So A Lawyer Walks Into A Bar...

by ifishouldvanish



Series: So A Lawyer Walks Into A Bar... [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Angst for like 2 seconds because I couldn't help myself, D/s themes, Doing it over a desk, Established Relationship, F/M, It's all in good fun, Office Sex, Rumbelle Order In The Court, Spanking, Very mild erotic humiliation?, bickering as foreplay, they're both giant dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 13:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: Lacey French is fed up with the long hours her main squeeze, hotshot attorney Cameron Gold, has been keeping lately. Naturally, she decides to do something about it.(AKA the one where Gold and Lacey can't stop being smitten dorks long enough to BDSM properly.)





	

Lacey's been lazing around Gold’s house in a brand new set of lingerie since five o'clock this afternoon. It's black and strappy, the balconette cups make her boobs look amazing, and the panties and garter belt make her ass look out of this world. She was feeling like a goddamned force of nature. All she had to do was wait for him to come home from work so he could fuck her silly— _or so she thought._

It's almost nine o'clock and the bastard is nowhere to be found.

Tired of scrolling through the bottomless selection of unappealing titles on Netflix, she switches over to cable. The son of a bitch has like, 800 channels after all. She doesn't know _why—_ the man never watches TV. In fact, she's pretty sure the only time his TV gets any action whatsoever is when she invites herself over to watch HBO and Showtime.

Lacey makes it through about fifty channels of nonsense before giving up with a heavy sigh. This is no way to be spending a Friday night. She should be on her back. Or her knees. Or tied to the headboard. Or— _fuck it._

She grabs her phone off the arm of the leather sofa and pulls up her messaging app. At the top of the conversation list is a text from Ruby from an hour ago, informing her that _'that hot redhead is out tonight’._ Ignored. A booty call from Victor. Also ignored. Then the text she got from Gold four hours ago.

_“Working late again.”_

Fucking a lawyer is great because they’re cold and heartless and Lacey has nothing if not a thing for assholes. But fucking a lawyer is also total shit because they’re _always fucking working—_ At least the good ones are, anyway. But she knew as much when they started this thing.

She had been facing charges for assault and property damage after a fight with Gerard over a litany of offenses— including but not limited to him “borrowing” the Firebird without asking, stealing money from her purse (again), and leaving the toilet seat up after she’d already told him to cut that shit out for the nine-hundredth time (the final straw). Much to no one’s surprise, he’d cried to his mother about it and pressed charges. Fortunately, old Moe was able to tap into his college connections and get Cameron Gold to take her case (because “no daughter of his was going to jail”).

Gold is arguably the best defense attorney in Maine, if not all of New England— but what Lacey hadn’t counted on was for him to also be ridiculously good-looking and just the right kind of prick a girl could sink her teeth into. However, he was a total professional and did a stellar job of ignoring each and every one of her advances. He was also technically still married, so it wasn’t until a month or two _after_ he’d gotten her off scot-free that the fun really began.

She was running tables at the Rabbit Hole when his familiar, impeccably dressed, Scottish ass waltzed in and took a seat at the bar. Lacey quickly “noticed” that his wedding ring was finally missing— and in the tiny dress she was wearing, it was all too easy to put on a show for him while she hustled a few hundred bucks off of the drunk idiots at the pool table.

If there’s one thing Lacey French knows, it’s the look of a desire on a man’s face— and after a few well-timed glances over her shoulder, she ascertained that Cameron R Gold, LL.M. (at least she's pretty sure that's what his card says) was _very_ interested. He already had a bourbon waiting for her by the time she took the seat beside him at the bar. Soon they were sharing a cigarette, exchanging barbs about her criminal record and his shite personal life (or lack thereof).

A few drinks later, they were sharing a stall in the ladies room— her dress gathered up to her waist and her panties dangling off her ankle where her leg was slung around his hip. One hand clutched at his hair and the other braced the side of the stall while he thrust into her with abandon. It was the best drunken fumble she'd had in her life. Hard and fast and messy and just the way she liked it— right down to the three times she’d almost slipped on the tile and fallen on her ass.

Lacey looks down at her phone again. She sighs and taps a finger on Cameron’s name, pulling up the pathetic and increasingly desperate series of texts she’s been sending him all week. They range from relatively innocent photos her in cheeky poses and colorful descriptions of all the things she plans to do to him, all the way down to brazen snapshots of her legs spread wide open. Sure, he’s been teasing her a little with shots of rolled up sleeves, his loosened tie and unbuttoned shirt, and a few explicit descriptions of the things _he_ would like to do to _her—_ but she is _so_ passed wanting to be teased, dammit.

 _“You coming home sometime this month or what?”_ She types furiously and hits send. The TV drones on as she awaits his reply, airing an infomercial for some kind of state-of-the-art non-stick pan. She shuts it off, and she's almost drifted to sleep by the time her phone finally vibrates on her belly, shocking her back into wakefulness.

_“Tough case. Lot of work.”_

She rolls her eyes. _“You're always working >:(“ _

_“That's because there's no shortage of people like you who need a good criminal defense attorney ;-)”_

Lacey blinks at her screen for a moment and scowls. Did Gold seriously just send her a winky face? Why is that so… _cute?_ She shakes the feeling off and readies her thumbs. _“If you ask me, I say fuck 'em. B)”_

His response comes quickly. _“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”_

 _God,_ she practically hear him saying that, his voice deep and husky and his accent thick. She huffs and presses her thighs together. _“You know the answer to that, asshole.”_

_“Yes. But unfortunately I'm going to be here another hour or two, at least.”_

Lacey groans aloud. _“But I'm bored and nobody wants to play with meee :(”_ She hits send and switches to her phone's camera, putting on her most alluring blue eyes. She's adjusting her angles and trying to get her cleavage into the shot when her phone vibrates again.

_“I'm sorry to hear about your personal problems, Miss French. But they are your problems.”_

Lacey snorts and cackles out loud, her laughter echoing throughout the empty house. _“Pretty sure that's what the old guy from Jurassic Park said.”_

_“What?”_

She rolls onto her belly, kicking her feet in the air, and giggles quietly to herself. _“We need to do a movie night, Gold,”_ she types away, smiling at her phone while her mind races to build a list of films to watch with him. _“Jurassic Park. Pulp Fiction. Alien. Raiders of the Lost Ark. American Psycho. Trainspot—”_

Another text appears on the screen. _“I'm sorry. I don't really have time for this.”_

Lacey stops typing and frowns. Guys _always_ have time to jump in the sack. Leave it to Gold to be the one man she knows who doesn't. She erases her movie night invitation and instead sends, _“But I've been such a good girl…”_ before making another attempt at a selfie.

_“After receiving four pictures of your pussy today, I’m inclined to disagree.”_

She chuckles quietly to herself at that. Before she can type a reply, her phone buzzes again.

_“If anything, I'd say you've been a very bad girl.”_

Lacey bites down on her lip. _Now_ he's talking her language. _“Did you like them, baby?”_ She types giddily. _“Usually I just resend some classics from the pussy library, but those were taken today just for you. ;)”_

_“Flattered.”_

_“Did you get nice and hard and touch yourself for me?”_

He doesn't answer right away and Lacey wonders if he might be sending a picture to illustrate just how much he likes them. When her phone buzzes, she's disappointed to say the least.

_“I really need to get back to work now, Lacey.”_

_“Fine. Got all dolled up and drove to your place for nothing I guess. :’(”_

Her phone remains idle for several minutes before vibrating again. _“Make yourself at home. Take a bath. Help yourself to some wine.”_

Lacey huffs and rolls her eyes. _“I’ve been ‘helping myself’ all week.”_

Twelve minutes pass without any reply.

 _Bastard knows I’m right,_ she thinks to herself with a snort.

Sure, she could spend the night with Keith, or Victor, or Ruby and the hot redhead— but these days she can’t bring herself to bother with any of them. Not that Gold is like, her boyfriend or anything. He just happens to have a well-stocked kitchen, a hot tub, and didn’t object when he came home to find her sprawled across his couch one evening, helping herself to all of his food. No, he just went about his business and invited her to stay for dinner, among other mind-blowing, toe-curling, roll-your-eyes-up-to-the-back-of-your-head activities.

If Cameron isn’t going to come to her, Lacey figures she could come to _him._

She climbs up off the couch gracelessly and rolls the stiffness out of her shoulders. _Might as well take a piss,_ she thinks, and drags her feet into the bathroom. She wiggles her toes on the cool, smooth, marble floors as she does her business, admiring the smoky grey swirls in the stone. A sudden thought hits her while she's washing her hands, and after a second's hesitation, Lacey rolls one of the drawers open. _Soap and hand towels._ She moves to the next drawer, finding an assortment of over the counter drugs and bandages. Opening the cupboard below reveals several rolls of toilet paper, cleaning supplies, and an unopened box of tampons she didn't know existed— she can’t help noticing they're _her brand_ though.

Lacey huffs and rises back to her feet. Her instinct won't let her leave the room yet though, and so she tries the drawers again. Lo and behold, buried all the way in the back behind the mess of perforated packets of painkillers, cold medicine, and allergy pills, she finds a recently dated pack of cigarettes. It's opened, and half empty.

She sighs and shakes her head. “Gold, you son of a bitch...”

  


*****

 

It took some digging, but back at her apartment, somewhere in the depths of her closet, Lacey managed to find a skirt that almost reaches her knees and a blouse she hasn’t worn since the eleventh grade that somehow still fits (sort of). She added a matching blazer and now she’s actually looking more like a secretary from a low-budget porno than a Mötley Crüe groupie, which for once is exactly what she’s going for.

Roleplay isn't really something they've done before, but if the man is so hellbent on working, perhaps a little dress-up couldn't hurt. After all, Lacey's pretty sure he's never even seen in her anything other than tight mini dresses that hardly cover her ass. She'd refused to even dress up for her court appearances, because _“fuck 'em”—_ something Gold had easily accepted as some kind of challenge and a further testament to his ability to woo a jury.

 _He’d better appreciate this,_ she thinks. _Lacey French dressing up for a man is nothing to be taken lightly._

She pulls into the parking lot at _Gold & Carabosse _ and climbs out of the Firebird's bucket seat with as much grace as possible for someone wearing a skin-tight skirt and five inch heels (not very much at all). The lights in the lobby are still on, and as Lacey approaches the front doors she can see that that damned goody-goody secretary Margaret Nolan is still there. Who fucking names their kid _Margaret,_ anyway?

Lacey thrusts the door open and the woman flinches behind her desk. Her heels clack loudly on the freshly waxed floors and Lacey like a force of nature once again.

“Excuse me—” Margaret tilts her head, not sure what to make of a client whose case has been dead and buried for almost a year storming in at this hour. “ _Lacey_ _French?_ What are _you_ doing here?”

“None of your damned business.” She grunts, strutting right past her.

“I’m sorry, miss—” Margaret rises from her seat with an air of self-righteousness, “but Mr Gold is _very busy_ at the moment.”

Lacey rolls her eyes and begins stomping up the sweeping staircase in the atrium. “Believe me, I know.”

“He’s not taking visitors!” She nags, chasing after her.

“Oh, he’ll take me, if he knows what's good for him.”

_“Hey!”_

Lacey pauses for an instant and hears Margaret's footsteps scurrying up the stairs behind her.

“You can't just _barge in_ here and—”

Lacey spins around as she reaches the second floor so she can look down the stairs at her. _“Watch me.”_

“Ma’am, this office closed four hours ago!” She says, her cheeks flushing as she catches up.

“Oh, fuck off!” Lacey snorts, starting down the hall. “...And _Ma’am?_ Seriously?”

Mrs Nolan gives an exasperated huff and bounds ahead of her. _Takes her job way too seriously,_ Lacey thinks. “Mr Gold doesn’t want any interrupt—”

“And I didn't want to have to drag my ass over here at half past nine,” Lacey says. “Looks like neither of us is getting what we want.” She continues down the hall, reaches Cameron's office, and pounds on the door.

“Ms French, Mr Gold is working on a very important case and needs--”

She knocks again. “Open up, Gold!”

“Ms French, could you please calm down?”

“Don’t tell me to  _calm--”_

She's cut off by the sound of the door cracking open. There Gold stands, looking deliciously disheveled, rubbing a hand over his stubble. His sleeves are rolled up, his tie is loosened, and the top few buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing his smooth chest.

“Lace—” He blinks. “...Miss French?”

It takes a second or two for Lacey to remember what she was so irate about before she erupts with, “Oh, don’t you _Miss French_ me!”

“I’m sorry, Mr Gold,” Margaret jumps in, “but she—”

“You have some fuckin’ nerve, Cameron!”

“I tried to stop her but she just—”

_“No wonder your wife—”_

“She wouldn't take no for an ans—”

 _"I can't blame her!”_ Lacey says.

“ _Oh my God.”_ Mrs Nolan covers her mouth as if she's about to vomit. “You two are—? _”_

“What the _fuck_ do I have to do to get some action around here?!”

“Oh, this is _so_ inappropriate…” Margaret says, looking of distantly and shaking her head in disapproval.

“Both of you— Shut. The hell. Up.” He mutters.

Both women fall silent and he takes a step back, opening the door wider. “Miss French,” he continues calmly, “you can take a seat in my office. And you—” He scowls and flails a hand at Mrs Nolan. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

Lacey steps through the threshold, stopping halfway to look over her shoulder at Margaret so she can stick her tongue out at her.

Margaret rolls her eyes and looks back to her employer. “Sir, I— you needed the Spencer documents filed before—”

“Leave.” He grunts. “Don’t you have a family or something to go home to? Husband? Children?”

“But sir, the Spencer doc—”

“Let _me_ worry about the Spencer documents.” He insists, but his voice is cold and dismissive, rather than warm and genuine. He's just trying to get rid of her. “Thank you for staying late, you can go home now, feel free to come in late tomorrow.”

Margaret stays put, and Gold hikes his brows expectantly.

“It’s just… Tomorrow is Saturday, sir.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and groans. “Fine— Monday! Just go!”

“Yes, sir.” She nods, ducking away with a little bow.

Lacey waits in the middle of the office, watching as Gold slams the door shut and spins on his heels before returning to his desk. He's so dark and brooding and handsome and she knows just the thing he needs.

A good fuck, same as her.

“Well— aren't you happy to see me?”  She asks.

“I'm not _unhappy.”_ He sighs, sinking back into his chair.

“Aw... Me too,” she says, puffing her chest out as she strips out of her blazer as seductively as possible. “I've been thinking about you all day, baby...”

He runs his fingers through his hair, his eyes panning over the clutter of documents on his desk before snapping back up to her. He narrows his eyes in scrutiny. “What the _hell_ are you wearing?”

She looks down at her legs. “It's called a pencil skirt, dumbass.”

He anxiously taps his pen on the edge of his desk for a moment, then tosses it atop the mess of documents. “Well, I hate it.”

That certainly isn't the reaction she was looking for. _Oh well._ Lacey pouts and stares down at her chest, cupping her breasts through her shirt. “And here I thought you'd like it…”

“Oh, aye.” He scoffs. “Just what I wannae see— is you dressed like one of my goddamned, _incompetent_ associates!”

Lacey smiles. He's being a total prick, but that's always been part of the draw for her. She's seen him far worse, after all. He just needs a little cheering up, and _cheering people up_ happens to be a special talent of hers.

“I thought it would be sexy.” She shrugs, hoisting herself up on his desk and paying no mind to the pile of documents she's sitting on. Crossing her legs, she leans in and pulls at his tie. “...What guy doesn't have a naughty secretary fantasy, hmm?”

“If I wanted to sleep with one of my employees—” he says, yanking the tie out of her grip, “I'd have done it already.” He hisses those last words, baring his perfectly imperfect teeth, and the light reflects off of his golden cap.

_Christ, even his teeth turn her on._

“Aww, baby...” She holds a hand over her heart and bats her lashes. “All the hot lawyer ladies in this building and you'd rather fuck _me_ instead?”

“I don't like screwing my work.”

“Oh, with these hours you've been keeping?” Lacey snorts. _“Had me fooled.”_ She slides off the desk, dragging several papers down with her. They drift to the floor and she looks up at him guiltily. _“Whoopsies!”_ She giggles, making a show of bending over to pick the files back up.

“That outfit is ridiculous.” He mutters.

Lacey sets the papers back down and leans across his desk, wetting her lips. In the most sultry tone she can manage without cracking herself up, she murmurs, _“Then help me take it off, Mr Gold...”_

She licks her lips, but his eyes are focused on the papers on his desk instead of her. “You're a big girl, Miss French. I'm sure you can manage it yourself.” He says, dismissing her with the wave of a hand.

She rolls her eyes and takes a step back. “And _then_ what?!”

“I don't imagine you came all the way over here, harassed my paralegal—”

_“Glorified secretary—”_

“—and disrupted my work without good reason. _You tell me.”_

She watches him pluck a document out from one of the piles. His brown eyes sweep from one line to the next as he skims through it, looking for some kind of detail he might use to his advantage in court. “You know damned well why I'm here, asshole.”

He sets the packet down and grabs a highlighter from the drawer, marking the text up with a few perfectly even florescent yellow lines. “Ah, yes—” he chuckles after a moment. “Because you're a _needy little whore.”_

“Oh, _fuck_ you!”

He turns a page and scans again, highlights again. “Hm. Don't you see I'm a wee bit busy fi’that?” He asks with disinterest.

Lacey scoffs and picks up one of the papers, leering at all the bright yellow markings. “Busy doing what— _coloring?”_

“Miss French, why don't you go sit down and wait like a good girl, hm?”

She pops open one of the buttons on her blouse and leans back over the desk. She squishes her breasts together, being sure to give him an eyeful. _“But I don't wanna be a good girl, Mr Gold…”_

“That's too bad.” He shrugs, turning another page. “Because good girls usually get _rewarded_ for their behavior.”

His eyes haven't drifted from his case files yet, and it's absolutely maddening. “Well, maybe I'd rather be _punished.”_ She says, wiggling her brows in spite of the fact that he’s _still_ not looking at her.

The highlighter stops squeaking against the page. After a beat, he continues marking the rest of his sentence and the squeaking resumes. Lacey notes the slightly darker spot of ink with a smile. _That_ got his attention.

He clears his throat and continues reading. “Then clearly, a more severe form of punishment is in order. Can't have you enjoying it, now can we?” He switches to his laptop and taps at a few keys. “...Defeats the purpose entirely.”

“Oh? Are you gonna spank me harder this time?”

She waits for an answer, but one never comes. He just continues reading, typing, flipping pages, highlighting, moving on to the next thing.

“...Hello?”

_Nothing._

“I said, _are you gonna spank me harder this time?”_

_Still nothing._

Lacey blinks at him in disbelief. “You're giving me the fuckin’ _silent_ treatment now?! Seriously?!”

She hates how distraught and high-pitched her voice sounds, but he doesn't even let on that he can hear her. It's as though she isn't even there and _god dammit—_ if there's any reason for the way Lacey French speaks, dresses, and behaves, it's to not be ignored.

“Real fuckin’ mature, asshole.” She says, folding her arms over her chest and plopping into the leather loveseat on the wall opposite his desk. She huffs and fidgets noisily on the couch like a petulant child who's been put in time out. This is even worse than being his client, she thinks. He might have ignored her flirtations back then, but at least he had to pay attention to her in _some_ capacity.

“...Fucking prick.” She mutters, sneaking another glance at him.

_Nope. Still nothing._

“You know, I didn't schlep all the way over here in _my_ car with _my_ shitty gas mileage just so I could watch you read about somebody else's problems.” She whines. “What about _my_ problems?! Mainly the one where _I haven't gotten laid in two weeks?!”_

He lifts his head up from his desk, and for an instant Lacey thinks she finally has his attention. But then there's a knock on the door, and she’s admittedly kind of relieved because on second thought, he actually _doesn't_ need to know that she hasn't been sleeping with anyone else for the past two months. After all, what other leverage does she have?

“Come in.” He calls out thickly in his stupid accent. He tosses his hair out of his eyes, revealing the silvery strands of hair along his temples, and god damn it— why does every little thing about him just have to ooze sex? _Shit’s not fair._

The door opens and in walks the other half of _Gold & Carabosse _ . Back when Lacey was a client, she was convinced Cameron and Mallory were doing it. But now she knows him better than that. _And apparently he isn't into women in business wear anyway_ , she thinks sourly.

“Oh. Lacey French.” Mallory smiles. “What a… pleasant surprise.”

Lacey rolls her eyes and nods in Cameron's direction. “He doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Just ignore her, Mal.” Gold says. “I did a spot of reading last week on pet training. Said the best thing for a dog that always begs is to not reward it with any attention whatsoever.”

Lacey wordlessly holds up both middle fingers to him. Not that he can see it because he’s _still_ not looking.

“...I see.” Mal nods politely, acknowledging Lacey's two-finger salute with a smile.

Gold clears his throat. “So what brings you in here?”

“Oh, just checking in before saying goodnight.” She says, shouldering her bag and approaching his desk. “Should have all those motions ready for the pretrial next week.”

“Excellent.”

“The exclusion on Midas is a little flimsy, but if we can win a _fraction_ of the motions to suppress, I don't see any way this goes to trial.”

“Hmm.” Gold steeples his fingers in consideration for a moment. “Spencer insists there are account statements that should exonerate him. Have we prepared a mo—”

“Judge won't be happy about it, but yes.”

He waves a hand in dismissal. “Arthur has got a history of Brady violations a mile long— It'll be granted. We’ll need to keep the heat on the bastard, but he'll bend.”

Lacey rolls her eyes and fidgets on the couch again. _Motion for the prosecution to release evidence?—_ How about a motion for _him_ to release his _dick_ from his pants?

He's basically ruining her life at this point, honestly. Comes out of nowhere, looking hot as hell and actually giving her sarcasm right back instead of getting all pissy and insulted (unlike _some_ people). Gives her not _some of_ the best, but definitely _the_ best sex she's ever had. Son of a bitch knows what she likes in bed better than _she_ does. But instead of fucking all day, every day, on every available surface, he’s constantly holed up in this goddamned office.

They're down to an average of like, two times a week now. And last time they did it _missionary_ of all things. Sure, it might actually have a _few_ merits she'll admit to— Just, you know, _not to his face—_ but it seems more and more often lately, they just chill on the sofa and talk over takeout. It's almost like their some kind of… _normal_ couple, which is definitely not what she signed up for.

Because they're not any kind of couple.

It's just sex.

The point is just how, after everything, is she supposed to move on and screw somebody else? It'd be like switching to diet soda. Unsatisfying with a funky aftertaste.

_Fucking asshole life ruiner._

“It _is_ past ten.” Mal says, with a finality in her voice that pulls Lacey out of her thoughts. “Perhaps you ought to consider doing the the same, Cam. Always all work and no play with you…” she tuts, trailing off and giving Lacey a wink.

“I'll consider it.” He mumbles. “Goodnight, Mal.”

Mal pauses when she reaches the door, drumming her French manicured nails on the frame. “You know, I've always found that often all a pet needs is a firm hand.” She says, her eyes sweeping knowingly between the two of them.

The door closes gently and they're left alone once again. The silence stretches for a moment before Lacey lets out a snort.

“You told her we're doing it?”

Gold sighs. “Mal’s a perceptive sort,” he offers, scooting his chair back and digging through the file cabinet behind him. “After all, why else would you be in my office at ten o'clock dressed like a goddamned stripper?”

“Uh…” she huffs out a laugh, “when am I _not_ dressed like a goddamned stripper?”

He doesn't say anything, but Lacey doesn't miss the way the corner of his mouth twitches into a humored little smirk as he scoots back up to his desk with another folder. _He liked that._

“...Exactly.” She says. “So don't start thinking you're like, special or whatever.”

His grin widens, growing more smug. “The naughty secretary get-up is new, is it not? I seem to recall you saying that you were hoping I'd like it?”

 _Fuckhead._ “Yeah well— I'm just… using you as my test market.” She says.

“Oh? Me and who else?” He asks with mild interest as he types something up. He gives her a moment to answer, then tuts when she fails to provide one. “...A single piece of data is hardly an adequate sample size, Miss French. You know that.”

“Whatever.”

He scoffs. _“Whatever,_ she says...”

“So. How much longer until you stop being boring?”

He looks up from his work with one of those crooked little smirks he usually puts on to look casual when he's in fact about four seconds away from losing his shit. It's kind of her favorite, and Lacey can't help grinning and wetting her lips.

It suddenly slips away however, and he returns to his work. “I'm sorry— Did you come in here expecting to be entertained?”

“Well, I did follow the signs for the peanut gallery.” She says, and he might be trying to hide his face, but she can recognize the way his nose wrinkles. He’s smiling again.

“You never _were_ good at following directions, were you?” He asks as he scribbles something down noisily with his fancy fountain pen.

Lacey sprawls out over the couch and summons her best mudflap girl pose. “I'd take directions from _you,_ baby...” She purrs.

The scribbling stops and he looks up at her again. Wets his lips. “Alright then...”

Another little smirk spreads across his face and Lacey waits for him to order her to get on her knees, or undress, or touch herself for him. _Something_ _fun_.

 _“...Leave.”_ He says, and he hangs onto the word— seeming to enjoy the way it feels on his tongue, and the way she deflates in response to it.

Lacey groans and rolls her eyes, but stays put.

He raises his brows at her expectantly. “...Well?”

“I guess you're right—” she admits, folding her arms over her chest. “I can't follow directions for shit.”

Gold straightens his posture, resting his hands on his desk and lacing his fingers. It's stately, dignified, powerful, and his mouth is slowly twitching back into that crooked smirk that's just begging to be wiped off. “I'm beginning to think you can follow directions just fine, Miss French,” he says. “But that you only do so when it's convenient to you.”

He's using that _that_ tone of voice and Lacey feels a tingle run down her spine. It’s deep and warm and feels like velvet against her ears. She's finally about to get what she came for.

“Sounds about right.” She says, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. “I do whatever I want, and nothing I don't.”

He scoots his chair away from the desk and makes a half-assed attempt to clear the clutter away. The corner of his mouth twitches a little and he pats his hand on the surface. “Let's see what you want then, hm?”

Biting back a smile, Lacey gets up and struts around the desk, slowly undoing the buttons on her blouse and sliding it off her shoulders. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat and lacey feels pride swell in her chest as she stops in front of him, settling between his knees. _It's about damned time._

“Turn around.” He says. “Elbows on the desk. Let's see what we have here.”

“Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it?” She says, bending over and giving her ass a little wiggle. “Probably forgot what it looks like.” She snickers. “Go ahead, get yourselves re-acquainted. Gold, ass. Ass, Gold.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Mouthy, mouthy, mouthy…”

“Shut up— you love my mouth.”

That earns her a swift smack on the rear.

 _“Hey!”_ She snaps her head back around to shoot him a scolding look— even though the fabric of her skirt softened much of what was already a gentle blow.

He gives her an impish grin. “...And _you_ love being _spanked.”_

“I do.”

“I _know_ you do,” he winks, tapping her bottom again. “Now turn around and behave.”

“I'll try.” She says, getting back into position. “But you _do_ realize you're asking a lot of me, right?”

She's pretty sure she hears a little chuckle escape him, and swells with pride.

“Let's just say that I believe in your potential, Miss French.”

Before Lacey can give that much thought, she feels his hands rest on her thighs and slide upwards, pushing the hem of her skirt up and over her bottom. She hears him inhale deeply at the sight of her and soon feels a finger scrape along the back of her thigh. It wriggles beneath the strap on her garter belt and she bites down on her lip in anticipation as he pulls it back tightly.

He releases it and a tiny crack claps through the quiet office as the elastic smacks her skin. She flinches and feels another pulse of warmth pool between her already hot, damp thighs.

He reaches two fingers between her legs to gauge her wetness. “You're a mess, Miss French.” He hums, “What I am going to do with you?”

Lacey rolls her eyes. “Gee, Mr Gold, I don't know— _Ow!”_ She snaps as he pinches the flesh on the back of her thigh. _“What the fuck?!”_

He scoots away enough so that he can answer her by leaning over in his chair and pressing his lips to the afflicted skin— kissing, licking, and sucking it better. God, it's torturous and why isn't his mouth on her pussy where it belongs?

“...Better?”

“A little further north.” She suggests.

“Oh no, we're just getting started, Miss French.” He says, quickly snapping the garter strap on the other side. “I know you didn't put these ridiculous things on just to have them taken off so quickly.”

Lacey twists back to glare at him. “You said you hated it.”

“No, no. I hate the skirt and the blouse. But these—” he snaps one of the straps again, “I rather like.”

“I knew you would.” She scoffs and grins devilishly. “...Kinky bastard.”

Gold gently tugs the hem of her skirt back down and smooths a hand over her bottom. He hoists himself out of his chair and guides her upright again, tugging her close and pressing himself against her backside.

“I'm afraid you know me a little too well, Miss French…” He whispers into her ear, sliding his hands around her waist. “And yet— you keep coming back for more.”

“Yeah, it's almost as if I enjoy it.” She shrugs. “Either that, or I'm just fuckin’ stupid.”

“No, no…” He exhales, his hands wandering upwards to cup her breasts. “You're not stupid, Lacey… _a little twisted, perhaps,”_ he scoffs, “but certainly not stupid.”

He starts rocking into her ever so slightly and _Christ_ , he's such a fucking tease.

“Do you remember the first day you came into this office?” He murmurs into her neck, then plants a kiss there.

 _Oh, she does. In vivid detail._ “Hmm... Kinda.”

“I’d already spoken to your father about your case over the phone. I wasn't terribly interested in taking it, to be quite honest. Sounded terribly boring. He swore up and down that you were innocent— was absolutely insulted when I suggested anything to the contrary.” He rests his chin on her shoulder and Lacey can feel his breaths ghosting over her skin. “But then you came into my office, wearing that _ridiculously_ short dress… sat down on my wee little couch over there, looked me in the eyes, and told me you were guilty as sin.” He presses another kiss to her neck. “That was when I decided I wanted to take the case.”

Lacey closes her eyes and lets out a little hum at the way his thumbs feel, rubbing gently over her nipples through her bra. “...I remember.”

“Mhmm.” He gives her another kiss on the shoulder and they take a moment to silently bask in the memory together, their breaths in concert with each other.

Lacey breaks the companionable silence with a scoff. “I remember my dad kept interrupting me when I was talking to you and you had security drag him out.”

He chuckles softly at that.

“I was kinda hoping you'd fuck me silly as soon as the door closed behind him, honestly.”

“Naughty girl…” He teases. “I was a married man.”

“Barely.”

He drags his nose upwards along her neck until his lips brush against the back of her ear, and it gives her chills. _“Legally.”_

“Well, you know me,” she says as evenly as she can. She snakes an arm over her shoulder to grasp at the ends of his hair, twirling it around her finger. “I'm one of those _‘rules are meant to be broken’_ types.”

“Oh, I'm well aware. Must have been devastated when you found out I was getting divorced, hm?” He jokes, turning his head to give her another peck on the temple. “No challenge in that, is there?”

“Nah.” She shakes her head. “It just made me want you more. I thought— _poor baby, I can make it better.”_ She says, rubbing against him and feeling his firm cock through the layers between them.

“You had _no_ shame,” he tells her, his voice warm with fondness. “Every person who walks through my door invariably wants to crawl up my arse. But you…” his fingers gently scrape along her neck, tucking her hair back and exposing her ear. “You were such an _irreverent_ little thing, weren't you?”

“What can I say?” She shrugs, “I like the attention.”

“Well, rest assured you'll have plenty of that in a minute.”

He takes her earlobe between his lips and sucks gently on it. It makes her shiver and she tilts her head, offering herself to him. He laps and sucks at the skin hungrily and Lacey can feel him growing more hard. His hands linger on her breasts for a moment before wandering down to the zipper on her skirt. He drags it down slowly, gives her a finishing nibble on the ear, and takes a half-step back so he can tug it past her hips. The weight of it drops past her knees and pools around her ankles, and she kicks it out of the way.

He mouths at her neck again for a moment longer, the little bit of stubble on his face prickling her skin, and brushes his lips over her ear. “...Bend over for me.” He whispers.

Lacey obeys without a thought, supporting herself on her elbows again, and spreads her legs for him a little. The first sensation she feels is his fingertips lightly dragging up and down her sides. It makes her back arch and her whole body tingle, and she lets out a little moan to let him know how much she's enjoying it. He continues for a moment longer before she feels his hands grip her waist.

Rubbing his thumbs in little circles, he works his way down to the small of her back, then firmly digs them up along her spine. He repeats the whole process a few times, massaging her like that, and it just feels so good to have his hands on her, to be touched by him. Finally, his hands wander below the small of her back and settle on her bottom.

He caresses her there for a moment, his fingers occasionally tracing along her crack. Slowly, he makes his way between her legs, his fingers lightly touching the wet fabric there. She lets out another little moan of encouragement, but she knows he's just teasing her. He gives her the opposite and pulls his hand away.

“Not yet, Miss French…” he tuts and delivers another light smack on her ass. “So impatient.”

“Asshole.”

He spanks her again, a little harder, and Lacey giggles.

At this he leans over her, burying his face in her shoulder. “Do I need to gag you, sweetheart?” He murmurs, the heat of his breath landing on her neck.

She wouldn't mind, necessarily. But half of the fun is interrupting him and trying to make him break character. She'll play along for now. “No, Mr Gold.”

“Good girl.” His hand sinks back between her legs and he strokes her through the saturated fabric again. “My, my, look at that... You are just _soaking.”_ He says. “I'm afraid you've completely ruined your panties, Miss French.”

“Oh no!” She gasps, barely holding in her laughter while she plays along. “Mr Gold, I’m so sorry!”

“Oh, that's alright-- you just can't help yourself, can you?”

“No, I can’t, Mr Gold!”

“I suppose we'll just have to take them off, won't we?”

“Yes, Mr Gold.”

He tucks his fingers inside the waistband of the cheeky little lace briefs and pulls them down, exposing her pert, flushed bottom. He's only able to push them down to her mid thighs because of the garters, but Lacey’s certain that having the glistening gusset suspended between her thighs like this only heightens the eroticism for him. It does for her, at least. She looks down between her legs and she can see for herself, the evidence of how ready she is for him.

His hand comes into view and Lacey can't help gasping as his fingers make contact with her bare flesh. They circle over her in a languid rhythm, spreading her juices all over her folds until every bit of her is thoroughly lubricated. He slips a finger inside her and she draws a sharp breath, closing her eyes. His finger strokes her walls and he soon adds another. She can hear the wet, slipping sounds it makes as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of her and the pressure in her belly builds.

“Mmm… such a wet, hot, little _cunt.”_ He moans, “I'm going to thoroughly enjoy _fucking_ it.”

Lacey tries to ride his hand, but he doesn't let her— countering every attempt she makes at getting more friction. _God, he's such a little shit._

“Aren't _you_ a needy little thing?” He teases. He sighs contentedly and clicks his tongue. “You know— I love watching you squirm for me, Lacey. You're going to come for me in no time at all, aren't you?” He sweeps two fingers along her cleft, scooping her nectar, and leans over to show it to her. She blinks her eyes open and takes in the sight of his hand coated with come. “Mm… _just look at that.”_ He says, rubbing her arousal been his fingers to demonstrate. “See how wet you get for me, Lacey? How _desperate_ you are to have me _fuck_ you?”

She does. The bastard turns her on like nothing else she's ever known— His warm voice, his cologne that's always so intoxicating but never overpowering, the sharp suits that skim his small figure, the smug little grin that's always planted firmly on his handsome face.

But now he's just enjoying himself way too much, the cocky bastard. She has to do something. Say something. Level the playing field and all that. It's time for her to have her fun.

“What are you—” she snorts, “a fucking _Bond_ villain?”

He pulls his hand away and spanks her, hard.

She winces at the sharp, delicious sting of pain it sends through her, then laughs as it starts to fade away. “Sorry! Sorry!” She says, “Please! Tell me more about the nuclear missiles— I'm listening now, I swear!”

His hand grips the back of her neck, pushing her down against the desk. He's aiming for dominating, but Lacey can't help grinning and giggling. He leans into her ear, his stiffening cock pressed against her backside and reminding her of what's to come. “Are you going to behave or not, Miss French?”

She takes a moment to collect herself. “Yes, Mr Gold.” She manages well enough, and he eases off. “As you were saying.”

Lacey catches him smiling and a soft chuckle escapes him. He quickly turns his head and presses a kiss to her temple, and she suddenly feels like she’s just plunged into an ice cold swimming pool— Her heart is pounding pleasantly in her chest and she tingles all over.

_Totally worth it._

He runs his hand over her hip few times before dragging his fingertips along her belly teasingly, then slowly slides his hand down over her pussy. He strokes her lightly a few times, then suddenly stops.

Lacey huffs. _“Now_ what are you—”

“I want to see you work for it.” He says. “Squirm for me, Lacey.”

She looks over her shoulder at him and offers nothing more than a smile.

“Miss French, I thought we had an understanding.” He says calmly. “You were going to behave. Now… I asked you to _fuck my hand_ like the desperate little wanton you are.”

Lacey bites her lip. “Yes, Mr Gold.” She begins rocking her hips, rubbing herself against his hand. Her eyes flutter shut as she builds her pleasure. She lets out a little moan when her climax is within her grasp and cants her hips against the desk, grinding them in circles against his fingers.

“That's it. Good girl, following directions.” He gloats.

“So this is my punishment?” She pants. “...I think you've gone soft, Gold.”

He pulls his hand away at that. He spanks her again and she lets out a squeak before bursting into another fit of giggles. She looks back at him to find the corner of his mouth twitching and she licks her lips.

“Please, Mr Gold, sir…” she says sweetly, “May I have another?”

The stern expression on his face melts away and he returns a little smile. “Well, since you asked so nicely—”

He strikes her again and she lets out a hiss and a pleasured moan. “Thank you, Mr Gold.” She giggles. “...May I have another?”

He narrows his eyes at her.

 _“I like it when I'm sore the next day.”_ She adds.

“I bet you do.” He says, taking the bait and spanking her again.

Lacey squeals and laughs again at the impact. The release of tension that comes with each blow makes her feel so good that she just can't help it. She loves everything about it. The anticipation of waiting for the blow. The sharp sting as it lands and the way her whole body reacts. The burn that slowly fades afterward. The soreness that lingers the next day and remembering who gave it to her.

He used to think it meant she wasn't taking him seriously— that she was laughing at _him._ But one conversion in his bed a few months ago remedied that. Now he finds it endearing to know how much she's enjoying herself. That's what's so great about being with Gold, Lacey thinks. He appreciates that it's all about having fun for her and never takes it too seriously.

“Thank you, Mr Gold.” She says, trying her best not to start giggling again. “May I please have another?”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “Oh, I could _spank you raw,_ Miss French,” he says, rubbing his palm soothingly over her burning red cheek. “But I’m afraid I have something else in mind for you.”

“Oh?” Lacey swallows, trying to conceal the eagerness and curiosity in her voice. “And what uh, what might that be?”

He starts circling his thumb along her slit, working his way back towards her ass where he begins adding more pressure. Lacey presses her lips together in anticipation. She's been dropping hints about trying anal with him for weeks and was starting to think she was being too subtle.

“How is this?” He asks. “Do you like that?”

He's rolling his thumb around the entrance, stretching the muscle there, and it feels pretty fucking amazing. The sensation makes her shudder with titillation, but being bent over his desk isn't quite what she had in mind for the first time.

“I… I'm not sure yet?”

“You can relax, Lacey. I'm not going to fuck you in the arse.” He scoffs.

She lets out a little chuckle and eases her body, letting herself enjoy the way he's massaging her asshole. It tingles wonderfully and she kind of wishes he _would_ fuck her in the arse. But at the same time, it's a comfort to know that it won't be happening. At least not tonight.

“Whatever you want, and nothing you don’t...” He reminds her.

“...I do.” She finally says. “I really like it.”

“Good. Because I have a little something for you.”

“...you do?”

He stops massaging her and takes a step back. He rolls open one of his desk drawers and digs through its contents for a moment. There’s the rustling of a bag, and she soon feels his body press against her as he leans over her again to hold out his offering— a small, gold plug.

Lacey takes one look at it and bursts into laughter. “You are _such_ a fucking narcissist!”

“Oh? Well, if you don't like it…” He closes his fist around it and pulls away.

“Wait!” She giggles, turning around and reaching an arm out to stop him. “I didn't say that!”

He opens his fist for her again and she admires it more closely. It's the right size for a beginner— no thicker than a finger at its fullest point. And in truth, she'd been planning on getting a gold one herself, because how could she not?

“...You got lube?”

He scoffs, offended by the implication. "Of course I do.”

“But like, the _right_ kinda lube?”

“Don't insult me, Lacey.”

She grins and smacks a hand on the desk. “Well then, let's do it!” She cheers, bending back over and wiggling her arse for him. “Pop that sucker in there!”

She glances over her shoulder in time to catch him rolling his eyes, but there's a pleased smile on his face nonetheless as he settles back into his chair and produces a bottle from what she presumes is the same bag.

The lube feels cold when it first touches her skin and it makes her flinch. But it warms quickly as he massages it in with his finger. He starts to slip in and out of her with ease, and she can feel the pleasurable sensation starting to build.

“Here it comes, sweetheart.” He says softly. “Try to relax…”

Lacey sucks in a breath as he slowly pushes the plug inside her. He mumbles reassuring nonsense as it sinks deeper, and she bites down on her lip hard as her body adjusts to the feeling of fullness.

“How's that? How's it feel?”

“Good. Feels good.”

He gives the plug a slight, tentative wiggle and she tightens around it, whimpering in response.

“Alright?”

 _“Oh yeah.”_ She sighs. “Oh, that feels _so good.”_

“Good. I'm glad.” He says. “Now what do we say?”

Lacey smiles. “Thank you, Mr Gold,” she says sweetly.

He leans over and plants a kiss on her temple. “Good girl.” His hand delivers another series of light taps on her bottom that are just firm enough to make her reflexively tighten around the plug again. “Now, let's see about that dripping wet cunt of yours, hm?”

Lacey snorts. “About damned time.”

She waits for another spanking that never comes. Instead, she hears him huff out a little laugh and unzip himself. It's become a secret point of pride for her, being able to make him laugh.

His cock slowly pushes between her thighs and he eases back and forth, getting himself coated with her arousal. The hard, hot length of him brushing against her oversensitive, engorged lips is nearly enough to set her off and she hums with pleasure.

“Are you ready for my cock, Lacey?”

“Yes.”

He reaches a hand between them to line himself up. “We'll go slow,” he says softly. “Let me know if it's too much.”

Another wisecrack reaches the tip of her tongue, but it evaporates as he fills her and she stretches around him. She simultaneously tightens around the plug and the feeling of being filled in both places is almost too much. Her breath hitches in her throat as he pulls out a little.

 _“Fuck.”_ Is all she can manage.

“How does it feel?” He asks, continuing to pump into her slowly, tentatively.

 _It feels fucking amazing._ But the words can't seem to make the trip from her head to her mouth. She settles for arching against him instead.

“Ah,” he chuckles, “you want more?”

“Please?”

He withdraws instead and Lacey begins to roll her eyes before she feels his hands start to work at her garter straps, unclipping them from her stockings.

 _“Yes,”_ she whispers and nods in agreement as he tugs her panties further down. His fingers struggle with the straps in front, threatening to destroy what momentum they've built.

“On second thought—” he scoffs, “I hate these too.”

She chuckles and repositions herself a little to help him, and soon enough she’s kicking her panties off from her ankles and spreading her legs further for him. He rests his hands on her hips again and finally pushes deeper inside her.

 _“Oh, God yes.”_ She groans.

He stays true to his word, moving slowly, languidly, giving her time to get used to the foreign sensation the plug introduces. He's perfectly attentive, reading her body language and adjusting his pace accordingly. She relaxes, and he pumps into her a little faster and deeper; she tenses, and he tempers his efforts, allowing her to savor the waves of pleasure as they ebb and flow. They find a steady rhythm together, Lacey panting and moaning with each roll of his hips as her pleasure builds.

One of his thrusts suddenly ignites a spark within her and she sucks in a breath. _“Oh, that's so good…”_

“Good girl,” he whispers, “let me hear you.”

His voice is so smooth and deep with focus and the thought that he's solely concentrated on giving her what she wants only heightens the tension coiling in her belly. _“God,_ Cameron…”

“That's right— you say my name when I fuck you.”

The plug slips out a little with him every time he withdraws, but each grind of his hips wedges it back into place. It's kind of overwhelming how incredible it feels and she needs more of it.

“Oh… Cameron, _please.”_

“What is it? Tell me what you want, Lacey.”

She whimpers and arches against him.

“No, no, sweetheart.” He tuts. _“Say it.”_

“More.”

He scoffs. “I'm sorry— What was that?”

 _“More.”_ She pants. “Please, God, just fuck me, Cameron. Fuck me harder.”

“Ah, I do love the sound o’that…” He teases. He plants his hands firmly on the edge of the desk for balance and increases the vigor of his thrusts.

“ _Yes!”_

He gives himself to her again and again, and Lacey clutches onto the edge of the desk for fear that her legs will give out any second. Her eyes roll back and her jaw hangs open as the tension in her body nears its breaking point.

“God, you feel incredible, Lacey.” He grunts, “So _wet_ and _hot_ and _tight.”_ The velvety quality in his voice is gone, though. He's beginning to lose himself in her, to lose control.

Barely able form a coherent thought, she just moans and bucks against him. He tucks one of his hands between them and uses it to toy with the end of the plug, wiggling it slightly as he continues rocking his hips into her. For a glorious instant, she loses control of every muscle in her body and shivers.

 _“Fuck!”_ She gasps. “Do that— do that again!”

He obliges, and her whole body trembles in response. He starts to wiggle the plug more liberally, and suddenly every nerve in her body is set aflame— Her hips jerk forward as her orgasm hits and she cries out in ecstasy. Her thighs clamp together involuntarily and she tightens around his cock, drawing a deep groan from him. He manages to keep going, milking as many spurts of pleasure out of her as he can before she comes back down completely.

His breaths become heavy and ragged as he nears his own release. She can recognize his sounds and he's so close. “Can I come inside you, Lacey?” He begs, and she can hear in his voice how hard he's trying to restrain himself.

 _“Yes.”_ She pants, _“Oh Cam... come inside me, baby…”_

He slams his hips into her a few more times before finally spilling himself with a loud groan. She can feel it when he comes, his thrusts falling out of rhythm and slowing to a series of sporadic jerks and muttered obscenities until he's emptied himself completely. Finally, Lacey allows her body to collapse over the desk with a final, satisfied sigh.

He slumps over her, panting, and reaches to put a hand on her shoulder. Rubbing his thumb to and fro over her skin, he wanders down her arm, seeking her hand. She takes it and gives him a squeeze and they remain still as their breaths fall in sync with each other.

Lacey feels him start to press breathless kisses across her back, and she can't help noticing the way he lingers on the spots where she knows she has birthmarks.

He reluctantly releases her hand and pulls out. He finds her buttock again, rubbing her cheek tentatively. “I'm gonnae take it out now,” he says quietly.

Still too numb to speak, Lacey just nods. He slowly pulls the plug out and she bites her lip at the sensation. He gently helps her upright and Lacey kicks her heels off, falling back against him because her legs feel so weak. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, pressing little kisses along her neck and shoulders.

“All good?”

 _“Oh, yeah.”_ She laughs.

He keeps peppering her with kisses and she rolls her head to the side, baring herself to him. It feels so warm and safe in his arms like this, and a pleasant feeling swells her chest again. She shakes it off and pulls away to look up at him. “What are you doing?”

He stops kissing her and furrows his brows, his cheeks flushing a little. He swallows. “What do you mean?”

“You're not gonna start like, crying on me or some shit, are you?”

 _“No.”_ He answers quickly, reeling back a little.

“Well— okay.” She shrugs. “Just making sure... ‘Cause I never know how to handle criers.”

He rolls his eyes and plucks a tissue from the box in his desk. He takes a step back and wipes himself off before zipping himself up and settling back into his chair. “C’mon.” He says, patting a hand on his lap.

Lacey curls up in his lap, arms clinging around his neck, and closes her eyes. He reaches across the desk for another tissue and proceeds to wipe off the mixture of their come from between her thighs. They still need to wash off properly, but the gesture is gentle and sweet and brings a little smile to her face nonetheless.

He tosses the soiled tissue into the waste bin and pulls open the top drawer of his desk. His hand gropes inside, retrieving a carton of cigarettes, and Lacey stirs as he tucks one between his lips.

“I uh… thought you were quitting.”

He puts the carton away without a word, feeling around this time for his lighter. Lacey watches with narrowed eyes as he lights up and takes a long drag. He closes his eyes, melting into his seat as he enjoys the dose of nicotine.

“You _said_ you wanted to quit.” She presses again.

“I'm cutting back.” He says, exhaling deeply.

She rolls her eyes. “Bullshit.”

He looks back at her innocently and takes another drag. “First one all week— Honest.”

“Oh really?” She says. “It fucking better be.”

He rolls his eyes, continuing to smoke.

“I'm serious!” She warns. “You wanna live to see your grandson grow up or not?!”

The smug look on his face slips away and he removes the cigarette from his lips. “I'm sorry. It just—” he looks away from her and sighs. “It helps wi’my nerves, a'right?” He explains, popping it back in his mouth.

“Well don't apologize to _me!_ ” She snaps. “And what the fuck does a rich, middle-aged, white guy who just _blew his load_ have to be nervous about anyway?!”

“Because! I—” He cuts himself off and hangs his head, looking at the lit cigarette in shame— or is it embarrassment?

“Put that shit out! Right now!”

“A’right, a’right! I'll put i’out!” He says, rushing to extinguish it in his ashtray, which she's mildly pleased to see is free of any ashes. She curbs her relief though-- could have emptied it before she came in. “See— it's out!”

Lacey stares at him for a moment and smiles. “...Good.” She says, wrapping her arms around him again and settling back against his chest, bumping his chin in the process. He lets out a little grunt and rests his chin on her head and his hand on her back, gently dragging his fingers up and down along her spine.

Lacey inhales deeply. He smells _so_ good, the smell of sweat mingling with his cologne. Admittedly, she used to like the smell of cigarette smoke on him, but ever since he’d claimed he was going to quit two months ago, that’s changed. She’d made some snarky remark about it probably being a little too late for that for him, but then he’d mentioned a newborn grandson and something suddenly twisted in her gut.

Fear. Fear of losing him. Pain at the realization that the bastard could get fucking lung cancer and clock out early on her, nevermind the fact that he was already over a decade her senior. She could hardly sleep that night, wincing every time he cleared his throat or coughed in his sleep. No. He wasn’t going to smoke another single one of the damned things if she could help it.

“Thank you.” He says a little reluctantly.

Lacey lifts her head up, looking at him with raised brows.

He wets his lips and glances across the office, avoiding her gaze. “I ah… I _do._ I want to quit,” he says. “For my grandson. It’s just, hard, ye know?” He mumbles, looking back at her with a weak smile.

“Well, you know.” She shrugs and gives a weak chuckle. “I can't have you like, dying on me and shit.”

He scoffs and smiles, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “...No?”

“Yeah, I mean— who else is gonna let me eat all the food in their house? ...Plus, then I'd have to find another lay with a decent cable package.”

“Well, when you put it like that… I suppose I _am_ pretty irreplaceable,” he winks.

Lacey snorts and he dips down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She's kind of glad he can't see how much it makes her smile.

“Are you working tomorrow?” He asks softly.

“Mhmm.”

“What ti—”

“Mid shift. One. Why?”

He stops rubbing her back and tilts his head thoughtfully. “...Come back home with me tonight.”

Lacey snorts and looks up at him. “Thinking about round two already, huh?” She teases. He doesn't smile though, and it gives her a sinking feeling in her gut.

“I'll make you breakfast in the morning.” He says.

She eyes him skeptically for a moment and puts on a smile. “Will there be pancakes?”

“There'll be whatever you like.” He says, his lips curling into a little smirk before giving her another kiss on the forehead.

“Okay.” She shrugs, trying to ignore the light feeling in her chest again. God, he's making her stomach do flips with all these kisses. She knows he likes to cuddle afterward, but this is a bit much— even for him.

“I'm ah… sorry.” He says.

“For what?”

He sighs and combs a hand through her hair. “Working so much.”

“It’s no big deal.” She shrugs. “I mean, I kinda have a lot of names in my little black—”

 _“Yes,_ ” he cuts her off. _“It is.”_ His voice is firm and almost a little angry. It's the same voice he uses in the courtroom to shut down a witness who's about to say something he doesn't want them to.

“Okay… apology accepted, I guess?”

He's quiet for a moment, staring at her like he wants to say something. It's not a look he wears often and it sets her on edge. “Lacey, I ah…” His mouth clamps shut and he shakes his head. Sighs. “Well, I… I just...” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and glances away from her. “I've ah, come to the...  well, the realization— _recently—_ that um…”

“Holy shit—” she giggles, “you _are_ nervous!”

He blushes and smiles. “Well, I'm just not quite sure how to say it.”

“Oh, _come on.”_ She says, swatting a hand at his chest. “You know I don't give a shit about tact, Gold.”

He nods and hikes his brows in acknowledgement. “...Alright. _Lacey.”_ He lets out a little chuckle and swallows, then finds her hand to lace their fingers and give her a little squeeze. “I ah… I _love_ you.”

 _“Oh.”_ Is the only syllable she can manage, and suddenly her pulse is pounding in her ears.

No one's ever said those words to her before.

Well, that's not _entirely_ true. Her mom used to say them to her every night. Sometimes Gerard would say them when she sucked him off, but he never sounded like he meant it. But Gold sounds like he actually means it and Lacey feels like the wind’s been knocked out of her lungs.

The hopeful smile slowly falls from his face as the silence stretches on, and he loosens his grip around her. He presses his lips into a thin line and a sick feeling fills Lacey's stomach again. Whatever moment they were just having is over.

He rubs a hand over his face and sighs, looking away. “You can go.” He says, nudging her out of his lap. “I'm sorry.”

“No, I don't—”

“Just forget it, Lace—”

“I think I love you too.” She says automatically, and she's not sure if she's saying it because she means it or she just wants him to feel better, or if there’s even a difference.

He finally meets her gaze for a moment and scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You _think.”_

“I don't know. I've just never...” she trails off and shrugs.

“Never what?” He mutters. “Thought about anyone other than yourself?”

Lacey blinks in disbelief. _“Excuse me?!”_ She knows she didn't deserve that, but she also knows that _'Oh’_ isn't the response he was hoping for— and that being an insensitive prick is defense mechanism of choice.

“Nothing.” He says and he slouches his shoulders. Judging by his pinched features, he's well aware that he's just taken a misstep. “I'm sorry, that—” he sighs. _“God,_ I'm a fucking— Just… forget I said anything.”

“No.” She snaps, shifting in his lap to face him better. “Fuck you. ‘ _Forget I said anything?’_ Really?”

“Well you don't seem to have any compunctions about wiping the slate clean every morning, acting like none of this means anything, so—”

“I never said that!”

“You don’t have to _say it!”_

“Oh, right— because I'm _Racy Lacey_ — I'm just the town bimbo slut, right? Everyone gets a ride?” She seethes and huffs and she never realized how much it would hurt to be accused of not caring about him.

“Lacey, you're _not—”_

“What I was going to say— _before you fuckin’ interrupted me—_ was that I...” Her mouth hangs open and she hesitates, creating a tense silence in which the building’s air conditioning hums loudly.

“I’m waiting.” He mutters impatiently.

“...That I _do.”_ She admits. “I think about you. _Us.”_

For an instant, his expression softens, but he schools the cold indifference back to his features, scoffs, and looks away. He thinks she's bullshitting him.

“Yeah, I get around. I fuck anything that moves, alright? It’s the only time I feel like I'm worth something. Except for— well, when I'm around you. I mean, I know all we do is fuck, but it feels different with you. I… I like bickering and hanging out with you as much as I like having sex with you. Maybe more, I don't know.”

“You don't know.” He echoes bitterly.

“No! _I don't!_ Okay?!” She snaps. “I've never been in love before, you idiot!” Tears begin burning in Lacey’s eyes, but she can't stop. She feels herself starting to tremble from the weight of her confession and gasps for breath. She doesn’t want to burst into tears— Not in front of him. But at the same time, if there’s anyone she feels she can be vulnerable around, it _is_ him. “I _think_ I love you, but the last thing I want to do is say it and end up being wrong and hurting you, okay!? I don't want to hurt you!”

The words spill out of her in a jumble, only to be followed by another unbearable silence.

He doesn't say anything at first. His face is unreadable and the only indication that he's heard a word she just said is the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows hard. He just presses his lips together into a thin line and stares ahead, and _goddamn it_ she just wants him to _say_ something.

“There.” She mutters to fill the silence more than anything else. “You fuckin’ happy?”

He huffs and rolls his eyes in exasperation. “And just _how the in the hell_ am I supposed to answer that?”

“You tell me,” she clips, gesturing around the office. “Mr wise-ass fuckin’ lawyer man.”

“Lacey, _please—”_ He sighs and slouches in defeat. “I… I don't want to argue.”

She snorts and looks away. “You are in the _wrong_ line of work then, Gold.”

“See?! Why do you always have to—” He cuts himself off shuts his mouth.

“Always have to what?”

He huffs.

“And don't you dare fuckin’ tell me to _just forget it.”_

“Lacey…” He rests a finger against his nose and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I just feel as though… every time I try to-- to get _closer_ to you, you push back. Like everything is a joke to you.”

She wants to deny it, but she can't. The lump in her throat suppresses whatever snappy comeback she might have had, and by the time words are possible again, the urge to protest is already gone.

“Yeah, well, maybe getting close to me is a horrible idea.” She sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her arm. “You ever think of that?”

“Well—” he gives a soft chuckle and Lacey narrows her eyes at him. _Now he's fucking laughing?_ “Not for the reason you might think.” He says.

“What... what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” She asks weakly, reluctant to express the full extent of her curiosity.

His thumb rubs along the back of her hand. “That I don't want to hurt you, either.”

Her lip trembles and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Lacey...” He cups her cheek with his hand and uses his thumb to wipe away the tear that rolls down her face. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry for snapping and being an arse. But I... I understand?”

Lacey nods slowly and repositions herself in his lap, burying her face in his shoulder. He pulls her tightly against him and strokes a hand over her back comfortingly. He’s never really held her like this before, and everything about it makes her feel so cherished and safe. Her trembling breaths gradually become steady, and Gold clears his throat.

“It's alright, you know?” He says softly. “It's… alright to be wrong.”

His words seem to impale her and she wails against him again. He shushes her placatingly and rubs her back, waiting for her to calm down before starting up again.

“I thought I loved my wife. Hell, I _knew_ I loved my wife— But I turned out to be wrong. We both did. I mean... I'm sure I was right for a while, but at some point that stopped being the case.”

Lacey just nods and snivels into his shoulder. He's never told her anything so personal before. She isn't sure what to make of this information, but she finds herself comforted by the sound of his voice regardless.

“But I still… I wouldn't take back all the times I told her I loved her. If I could go back and change it all, I wouldn't. We were happy for a while. We raised a son who we love more than anything. I still look back on things— our first date, our first time, the day she told me she was pregnant with Neal, our wedding day, our first house— I look back on all of those things with fondness because regardless of how it all ended, we were reasonably happy at the time.”

“I guess.” She says, her voice muffled against his skin.

“I can't guarantee that I'll love you forever, Lacey. I want to— more than anything— but I don't think anyone can make that promise, and I certainly don't expect it of you. But what I can tell you, truthfully, is that I love you now. That I'm happy now, and that no matter what happens, I'll never regret telling you as much.”

She pulls away to look at him, her eyes puffy and her cheeks flushed. “I'm happy now too.” She mumbles, a little embarrassed by her outburst.

He smiles weakly at her for a moment. “May I kiss you, Lacey?”

She cracks a smile and manages a laugh. “Yeah.”

He returns a relieved sigh and cradles her face in his hands. He pulls her in and touches his lips to hers in a kiss. It's gentle and chaste, but it's passionate— it makes Lacey feel like her heart is doubling in size, and it leaves her breathless all the same.

“I do.” She says when they part. “I love you.”

He presses their foreheads together and they share a deep breath. “And I love you.”

Suddenly it feels like everything is going to be okay. He loves her and she loves him and everything else can just wait.

Lacey nestles her face into his neck again and takes a moment to just _breathe._ Her mind jumps from one memory to the other— of them laughing together, teasing each other, enjoying a meal, waking up the morning after to find themselves tangled together. It almost overwhelms her to think of the love there, in all of those little moments.

“You know…” His pulls away with an amused smile, “ignoring you, being an arse… you know I don't mean it, right?”

Lacey shrugs.

“It’s just— well, you seem to… to enjoy it?”

She laughs and nods. “I do.”

He lets out a deep sigh of relief. “Ah, good. _Good._ I know I'm an arse to everybody, but—” he chuckles, “Well, I want it to be good for you. Between us, it's… _for_ you. Because in truth, it takes every fibre of my being to ignore you, Lacey.”

“You make it look so effortless.” She laughs, wiping her watery eyes with the back of her hand.

“I assure you it's not, sweetheart,” he says. “To be an arse when I want so badly to just be… I don't know, _different._ A different man with you. And well, that—that's...”

Lacey tilts her head at him and his eyes are starting to look a little misty. _Is he going to cry?_

She must be wearing the question on her face, because he gives a slight nod before sniffling and finishing, “That's never happened before.”

Lacey bites back a smile. “Well, you um… you were kinda different tonight.” She tells him. “Gentle? At times? It made me feel— I liked it.”

He blushes and looks away shyly.

“I mean, I don't know. I guess maybe I _could_ get used to the whole ‘whispering sweet nothings’ to each other thing,” she says.

His face is turning beet red and she can't _not_ take mercy on him.

“Hey. Look at me, baby.” She cups his face in her hand, turning him back toward her. “I mean it.” She says. “I love you.”

He seems to relax a little and nods.

“...But I also found the cigarettes you were hiding in the bathroom and I'm totally kicking your ass when we get home.”

He looks away in shame, but it's betrayed by a smile.

“That's right— Now it’s _your_ turn for a spanking,” she laughs, and he acknowledges her with a shameless half-shrug.

“Well.” He takes her hand and slowly draws it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. “Let's go home, then,” he winks. “...You can tell me what a _bad boy_ I've been and _punish_ me.”

Lacey looks at him with a bemused smile and cocks her head to the side, not sure if he's being serious or not. “...For real?”

“C’mon.” He says, ignoring the question and nudging her out of his lap.

She rolls her eyes and climbs to her feet. “You wanna be spanked?”

He gets up and just starts cleaning the clutter off of his desk, tucking the documents into all the appropriate folders. For a second, he pauses and looks at her, and Lacey expects to hear an answer. But then he just returns to his file cabinet. “Aren't you going to get dressed, sweetheart?” He asks.

“Yeah, but—” She steps into her skirt and trails off as she shimmies it up her thighs. _“Seriously?_ You uh… you’d be into that?”

Instead of answering her, he clears his throat. “Forgetting something?”

Lacey looks up to find him holding her panties out to her, and snorts. “You mean you don't wanna keep 'em?”

He studies them for a moment and frowns, giving his head a little shake. _"Don't think they'll fit.”_

She rolls her eyes and snatches them out of his hand to shove in her purse later. Now he's busying himself with plucking the pens and highlighters off his desk and putting them back in the drawer.

“Okay, but—” She knits her brows together and tries again. “You really wanna be spanked though?”

He’s still pretending not to hear her, but a humored little smirk is starting to spread across his face.

Lacey huffs and rolls her eyes, zipping her skirt. “God, you're a fucking prick.”

He huffs out a laugh. “You still love me, though?”

She leans in and gives him a peck on the cheek. “Mhm.”

Before he can return the favor, she gives him a firm smack on the rear. He lets out a little grunt in response, followed by a pleasantly surprised smile.

“Yeah, get used to it.” She laughs.

“Hm. Well, in that case…” He says, stepping closer and pulling her in for a kiss. “May I have another?”


End file.
